I was raised in a world where coconuts clacked,
Where knights lost limbs but never cracked.
Where spam was a meal, a mantra, a song,
And reason was something they got terribly wrong.
Then Little Shop bloomed on my worn-out screen,
With a bloodthirsty plant and a girl named green.
Seymour begged, and Audrey dreamed,
And I sang along while the flower schemed.
Oh, we grew up strange, and thank the stars,
On midnight shows and VCRs.
Where brains went “Abby Normal” with a groan,
And Frau Blücher made horses moan.
Teri Garr danced like a dream,
In a castle stitched from fevered steam.
We did the Time Warp every fall,
With rice in our pockets and fishnets for all.
Frank-N-Furter’s gaze, so fierce, so sly,
Taught us to question who, what, where, and why.
Then Bowie’s stare through the crystal ball,
And The Princess Bride—the best tale of all.
“Inconceivable!” still rings in my ear,
And “As you wish” brings back a tear.
We weren’t the cool kids with letterman pride,
But we knew every line where the weird ones reside.
We mouthed the words before the cue,
And loved every monster, villain, and shrew.
Magic was real—if offbeat and odd—
We laughed at fate, we winked with God.
So here’s to the freaks, the nerds, the divine,
The ones who sang “Feed me” in perfect time.
To castles that rocked and knights who fall,
To talking hands on dungeon walls.
We were the strange, the fringe, the free—
And it all made sense to a kid like me.
Now way past grown, I tuck these films in my soul,
A VHS heart, a celluloid scroll.
When the world gets dull, too sharp, too straight—
I press rewind… and reanimate.
